country, as well as his
ability to maintain it, by printed addresses, public speeches, extensive
correspondence, and whatever other mode could be adopted for the purpose
of exposing the encroachments of the British parliament, and animating
the people to a manly resistance. Both, were not only decided, but
early, friends of independence. While others yet doubted, they were
resolved; where others hesitated, they pressed forward. They were both
members of the committee for preparing the declaration of independence,
and they constituted the sub-committee appointed by the other members to
make the draft. They left their seats in congress, being called to other
public employment, at periods not remote from each other, although one
of them returned to it afterward for a short time. Neither of them was
of the assembly of great men which formed the present constitution, and
neither was at any time member of congress under its provisions.
Both have been public ministers abroad, both vice-presidents and both
presidents. These coincidences are now singularly crowned and completed.
They have died together; and they died on the anniversary of liberty.

When many of us were last in this place, fellow-citizens, it was on the
day of that anniversary. We were met to enjoy the festivities belonging
to the occasion, and to manifest our grateful homage to our political
fathers. We did not, we could not here forget our venerable neighbor
of Quincy. We knew that we were standing, at a time of high and palmy
prosperity, where he had stood in the hour of utmost peril; that we saw
nothing but liberty and security, where he had met the frown of power;
that we were enjoying everything, where he had hazarded everything; and
just and sincere plaudits rose to his name, from the crowds which filled
this area, and hung over these galleries. He whose grateful duty it was
to speak to us, [Hon, Joshiah Quincy] on that day, of the virtues of our
fathers, had, indeed, admonished us that time and years were about to
level his venerable frame with the dust. But he bade us hope that "the
sound of a nation's joy, rushing from our cities, ringing from our
valleys, echoing from our hills, might yet break the silence of his aged
ear; that the rising blessings of grateful millions might yet visit
with glad light his decaying vision." Alas! that vision was then closing
forever. Alas! the silence which was then settling on that aged ear was
an everlasting silence! Fo